


Dancing In The Dark

by octothorpetopus



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1990s, BAMF Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak Are Best Friends, Bullying, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak-centric, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, F-Slur Warning, First Kiss, Fist Fights, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gen, Henry Bowers Being an Asshole, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, IT (2017)-compliant, M/M, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Oblivious Richie Tozier, Prom, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Being an Asshole, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, School Dances, Song: Dancing In The Dark - Bruce Springsteen, senior prom, sort of canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-01 12:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus
Summary: The Losers attend their senior prom, a night they thought they might never see, and have one final night of fun before they leave Derry forever.





	Dancing In The Dark

"Mom, I swear to god." Eddie waved away his mother's hands, which were fiddling with Eddie's bow tie for the thirteenth time that evening (he counted).

"Fine, fine. Just trying to be helpful." Sonia Kaspbrak stepped back to look at her son. "Oh, my beautiful boy. You look just like your dad." She wrapped him in a hug so tight his vision went dark around the edges.

"Come on, Mom, Bill's gonna be here any minute." Eddie pulled out of his mother's arms and straightened his jacket. He looked _ good. _Real good. For who he was trying to look good for, he couldn't have said, but he was trying nonetheless. His mother moved to brush a lock of hair off his forehead when the doorbell rang mercifully. Eddie kissed her quickly on the cheek and sprinted away before she could make any more adjustments. He slammed the screen door behind him and smiled admiringly up at Bill, who was shifting from foot to foot nervously on his front stoop.

"C'mon, let's go before my mom tries to rope us into taking pictures." Bill gave him a look of mock horror and followed Eddie to the Jeep in the driveway. Eddie had mowed lawns and walked dogs for months to afford it, and he took care of it with the diligence of a mother taking care of a child. Bill slipped into the immaculate passenger seat.

“H-h-how’re we going to f-fit e-e-everyone?” Eddie’s car was a five-seater, which was not going to work for the six remaining members of the Losers Club. Luckily, he had thought of that.

“Stan’s getting Ben and Mike. We’ve just gotta get Richie.” Bill grinned as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Let’s go g-get Trashmouth, th-then.”

Richie lived close enough to the high school that he could have walked if he wanted, but he insisted that there was no ‘style’ in walking to prom. Eddie countered that a beige Jeep was not particularly stylish either, to which Richie responded that Eddie’s mom’s beige Jeep was stylish, which left Eddie more confused than insulted. 

Eddie jogged up the front steps to the Tozier residence and rang the doorbell, which was one of the ones that chimes like church bells when you ring it instead of a simple ding-dong. Muffled voices grew louder as a formless blob approached the door, barely visible through the frosted glass windows, and then the front door was thrown open. Eddie almost fell down the steps, and would have, if Richie hadn’t grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside. The reason for his sudden bout of vertigo was, of course, Richie. Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier had, seemingly overnight, become hot. Really hot. Not that Eddie was attracted to him in any way, but… objectively. Hot with a capital H. His hair, which was usually a mess (Eddie had once picked a leaf out of it), was slicked back carefully, and for the first time in all the years they had known each other, Eddie could see all of Richie’s face. He was wearing what was presumably his father’s suit, but it fit him perfectly. What Eddie might have described once as lanky had transformed into a sort of lithe grace. The only thing that told him that this was, in fact, the Richie Tozier he knew was his glasses, held together with more adhesive tape than actual screws.

“Come on, Eds, my mom wants pictures.” Eddie dug his heels into the carpet, grinding Richie’s purposeful march to a halt.

“Bill’s waiting in the car, and-”

“Just one picture?” Richie fixed Eddie with a kicked puppy gaze. Eddie couldn’t say no. For some reason, he’d never been able to say no to Richie.

“Fine. One.” Richie pulled him into the living room, where Maggie and Wentworth stood, a Polaroid camera in Maggie’s perfectly manicured hands. 

“Hurry up, Ma,” Richie whined as he slung an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, fixing the camera with an easy smile. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too. Richie was like that, totally infectious in everything he did. It didn’t matter if his jokes weren’t funny, you laughed anyway because he was laughing. You smiled when he smiled, and when he was happy, it was like sunlight flooded the room even if there were no windows or it was nighttime. 

The film came out of the camera with a soft _ whrrrrr, _and Richie snatched it before it had a chance to develop.

“Thanks, mom. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Be good, Richie,” she warned, but grinned when he kissed her cheek. Wentworth clapped his son on the shoulder and smiled too, the same wide and easy smile as Richie’s. Richie steered Eddie back towards the front door, and they exited into the cool May night.

"Aw, come on, I gotta sit in the back?" Richie complained, but it was superficial. Richie always rode in the back of the car, or on the back of Eddie's bike when they rode double.

"I-i-it's just for a f-few m-minutes." Bill greeted Eddie with a high-five.

"We meeting Haystack and the others there?"

"Yeah. Ben's mom wanted to take pictures even more badly than yours did."

"Y-you guys t-t-took pictures w-w-without me?"

"Be glad you avoided it," Richie reassured Bill. "We'll get pictures when we get there." Bill flipped on the radio. Queen sang "You're My Best Friend", and Richie crooned along. As with everything else, it wasn't long before Eddie's wobbling voice joined him, followed by Bill, who never stuttered when he sang and in fact had a very nice voice.

Derry High School looked mostly like it always did, short of the hand-painted banner hanging over the gym doors that said _A NIGHT IN PARIS. _The only thing that could've told you that it was supposed to be Paris was a seven-foot Eiffel Tower in front of the photographer and the pink tissue paper over the fluorescent lights, casting a rosy glow into the gym. It was, in a word, underwhelming, but Eddie still shivered in anticipation. He'd had both dreams and nightmares about tonight, but now he was here. There was no more fighting and no more hiding to be had.

"Not bad," came a voice from behind them. Richie, Eddie, and Bill spun around to see Stan, Mike, and Ben behind them. Mike was the one who had spoken, and he looked fly as hell. They all did. Ben had already begun to lose weight, and although he was not yet the Adonis he would one day become, he looked happier. More confident. Eddie was proud of him. He was proud of all of them for making it this far.

"Who's ready to paaaaaarty!?" Richie cried in his Movie Announcer Voice.

"Beep-beep, Richie," Stan said, rolling his eyes.

"You beep-beep, Stan, it's prom. It's time to fuckin' party." And then Richie took off into the fray, leaving the rest of the Losers to try to catch up with him. They found him by the snack table, downing a plastic cup full of orange, vaguely opaque punch.

"Richie, that's almost definitely spiked."

"Yeah, Eds, and so what?" Richie refilled his glass. "Drink up, boys, for tonight, we rise!" Drinks were passed around. Everyone except Eddie and Bill took one.

"Someone's gotta be there to drive your drunk asses home," Eddie said when Richie asked him why he was being a pussy. Richie rolled his eyes and punched Eddie's arm.

"Lame."

"Responsible."

"Same thing."

"I can have plenty of fun without getting wasted, Richie."

"Yeah, but you can have even more fun if you do." Richie waggled his eyebrows suggestively, although what exactly he was suggesting wasn't immediately clear to anyone.

"Enough, Rich, just do what you want." Richie's shoulders sagged.

"Fine. Sorry."

"It's fine. Are we dancing or not?" Richie brightened at the mention of dancing. He was a deeply atrocious dancer, not that Eddie was much better, but he loved it in such a way that no amount of insults or protests could get him to stop once he started. Richie grabbed Eddie's arm in one hand and Ben's in his other, and dragged them towards the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the gym. He began to twist and bounce in a way that someone who had never witnessed Richie's dance moves might have thought he was having a seizure. Eddie swayed from side to side, occasionally moving his arms. Mike shook his head as he looked at them and the other three, none of whom were doing particularly well either.

"White people," he muttered. The band played one upbeat track after another, and the night faded into a blur of neon lights. At one point, Richie took Eddie by the hands and pulled him into a quick and messy two-step.

"You gotta loosen up, Eddie-Spaghetti!"

"I hate it when you call me that."

"No, you don't." No, he didn't.

Still, it was prom, and most people who go to prom bring dates, so it wasn't long before the band played a slow song, specifically dedicated to all the lovebirds out there. The losers eyed each other for a moment, then broke down laughing, hardly able to drag themselves to a table in the corner.

"I need a smoke break." Richie pushed himself away from the table and patted his pocket, where he had presumably smuggled a carton of cigarettes. "Anyone care to join me?" His eyes flicked momentarily towards Eddie, although Eddie couldn't have smoked even if he wanted to.

"None of us smoke, Richie, why would we-"

"Sure. Why not? I've got nothing better to do." Eddie stood up, interrupting Ben.

"Cool. Cool." Richie smiled that little enigmatic smile of his, and he and Eddie left the gym, finding a place to sit outside the school's loading dock. Richie sat on a stack of crates and clumsily lit a cigarette. He turned his head up to the sky and blew out a long stream of smoke, almost silver against the black night sky. Eddie didn’t particularly like being around other people who were smoking, but when Richie did it... god, he was beautiful. 

“So... is prom everything you thought it would be?” Richie asked, breaking the comfortable silence that settled between them.

”Let’s see. All my friends getting drunk? Check. Half-assed decorations? Check. The same ten songs on constant repeat? Check. Yeah, pretty much.” Richie chuckled.

”Prom’s not for people like us, y’know?”

”People like us?”

”Losers.” Richie didn’t mean it as an insult, it was what they called themselves, but it hurt nonetheless. “It’s for the shiny crowd, the people with the perfect hair and the perfect grades. The kids that are going to be presidents and movie stars. We’re not shiny like that, Eddie.” And then Richie smiled, but it was almost sad. “But who needs diamonds when you’ve got steel? That’s you and me, Eds. We’re not the coolest or the most interesting, but we’re tough. And that’s cool too.” Eddie was quiet for a moment.

”I mean, diamonds are the strongest substance in the world, but-“

”You’re ruining my metaphor.”

”-but I get the point you’re making. And honestly, I have to say, that was kinda poetic for a boy whose nickname is Trashmouth.”

"Beep-beep, Eds." Eddie sighed.

"Yeah. I know. And you're right. But..." Richie's head perked up. "What if we could make it for people like us?" Richie narrowed his eyes.

"What the hell do you mean?" Eddie leaned over and whispered in Richie's ear so quietly Richie hardly caught it. "Are you serious?" Eddie nodded, his eyes wide with excitement.

"You in?" Richie considered for a moment, then dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot.

"Hell yeah. Let's do it."

Back in the gym, the music was once again pumping. Their friends had disappeared from the table, with no evidence that they'd been there except Mike's suit coat draped over the back of a chair and a pile of crumbs where Ben had been sitting. Richie and Eddie shared another look and burst out laughing.

"Come on! We gotta go!" Richie hissed, and took Eddie by the hand, pulling him for something like the fifth time along behind him. They ran through the gym, laughing like maniacs, their legs pumping like the end of the world, until Richie tripped and took Eddie down with him. They hit the floor hard, and Eddie felt the arm he'd broken once upon a time twinge underneath his body. He used his other arm to push himself up, and his heart stopped when he saw Henry Bowers bearing down on them, accompanied by two of his new goons (the old ones were either dead or had graduated- having been held back a year had not been good to Henry Bowers).

"Going somewhere, faggots?" He snickered loudly as Richie brushed himself off and got to his feet.

"Fuck off, Bowers. Just for one night." He offered a hand to Eddie, which he took gratefully.

"You going to find a place to fuck?" Richie's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. Eddie was also grateful for that.

"Just leave us alone, would you?" Eddie pleaded, but Bowers ignored him.

"So is Wheezy your boyfriend now, Trashmouth?" They were loud now, and more and more people were turning to look at them. Not, unfortunately, any of the chaperones, who seemed more focused on people from literally having sex on the dance floor. "You suck his dick? Huh? Or is he more the submissive type?" Richie was growing angrier by the minute. Eddie wasn't sure he'd ever seen Richie more pissed off in his life.

"Shut your mouth, Bowers."

"Or what? Actually, maybe I should. I don't want you getting the wrong idea." Now he was right in Richie's face. "Some of us don't swing that way, Trashmouth. But I'll tell you what- I'll be quiet if your boyfriend here," he said, acknowledging Eddie for the first time, "admits that he's a queer." And that was when Richie punched Henry Bowers.

They were in close quarters, so it wasn't a particularly good punch, but it shocked the hell out of Bowers so bad that he stumbled back a few steps, clutching his nose, which Richie had managed to make bleed.

"Oh, you're dead, Tozier. _DEAD!" _He screeched and lunged at Richie, nailing three rapid-fire hits to Richie's left cheekbone. His father's class ring, which he had taken after killing him, left deep cuts in the freckled skin of Richie's face. He had Richie by the collar now, and was winding up for an apocalyptic uppercut when Mrs. Davies, one of the chaperones and Eddie's new personal hero, took notice of the fight.

_"Mr. Bowers!" _She bellowed, storming towards the crowd that had gathered around them. "Unless you want to be held back _again, _you will _put him down!" _Henry looked back and forth between Mrs. Davies and Richie, whose bleeding face was already beginning to bruise. Finally, he released Richie with a sneer, shoving him to the ground and retreating out the front doors of the gym, trailed by his thugs.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy-" Eddie knelt next to Richie and held his face in his hands. "Motherfucker. We gotta get you fixed up, and the next time I see Henry Bowers, I swear to god I'll-

"Shut the fuck up, Eddie. Let's get out of here." Richie got to his feet, and he and Eddie pushed through the people, ignoring the quizzical stares and curious glances their friends and strangers alike gave them.

The nurse's office was next door to the gym. Richie tried the door handle. Locked. He turned to leave, but Eddie stopped him, fumbling in his pocket for something.

"A-ha!" He exclaimed, and pulled out his key ring. He tried a couple different ones, to no avail. Finally, he found a key that fit in the lock and turned it. Richie heard the soft _thunk _of the lock sliding into place.

"You have your own key to the nurse's office?" Eddie shrugged.

"I get sick a lot. Eventually, the nurse just decided that I should be able to get in on my own so she wouldn't have to come every time I came in. Which was a lot. Also, my mom kinda demanded it."

"That checks out." Eddie hit the lights and Richie took a seat on one of the counters.

"So, what the hell was that about?" Eddie asked as he dug through the cabinets, collecting supplies.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Bowers has basically called us queers every day for the last ten years. So why'd you pick today to punch him and get the hell beaten out of you?"

"Why? Do you think I shouldn't have?"

"I mean, it was very badass, I'll give you that. Up until the bit where he almost killed you."

"You're exaggerating, Eds."

"Don't call me that." Eddie sat down on the swiveling stool in front of Richie and poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball. "This is gonna hurt." He dabbed gently at the series of cuts on Richie's cheek. Richie's knuckles went white as he clutched the counter, but he didn't so much as whimper. "I just don't get it."

"I don't know, Eddie, I'm drunk, he was being a douchebag, I decided to be a moron. Isn't that what always happens?" Eddie didn't respond as he pressed a few butterfly bandages onto the wound. "He went after you." Richie said softly.

"Huh?"

"He went after you. I was cool until he started picking on you."

"Richie, Henry Bowers has called me a queer and a faggot and every other name in the book almost every day since he learned those words. I don't get why that upset you so much."

"I mean, are... are you? Queer, I mean?" Eddie studied Richie silently. He was being serious, for sure, but Eddie had never been asked that question before. Not even by Bowers.

"Does it matter?" He asked after what seemed like hours. "Would you still be my friend?" Richie smiled, a different kind of smile than Eddie had ever seen. It wasn't sad, but it was sincere. And there was something else in it, something Eddie had only seen almost five years previous, in the way Ben had looked at Beverly.

"I'll never stop being your friend, Eddie." Richie's voice cracked, but his eyes were clear as he took Eddie's hand and squeezed, a gesture that was familiar among the group of friends that had become a family.

"Good." Eddie held up an towel filled with ice from the freezer. "Hold this on your face. It'll keep the swelling down." He hadn't, at any point, actually answered the question.

An hour later, the two of them returned to the gym. Bowers was gone, and most everyone had gone back to dancing like nothing had happened. Eddie noticed a few drops of Richie's- or maybe it was Henry's- blood on the gym floor. Their friends were sitting dejectedly around the table in the back corner, but they all sat up when they saw Richie and Eddie approaching.

"Are you okay?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, fine. What are you losers doing?" Richie was back to his usual self, Eddie noted.

"I mean, you getting the shit beaten out of yourself kind of dampened the mood," Stan said in his usual deadpan tone.

"Lame. I'm fine, guys." Still, Richie sat. Eddie took the seat next to him, and they all sat in gloomy silence.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" Mrs. Davies's voice carried over the band, which went out with a jerk. Little by little, a silence settled over the assembled students. "I have here in my hand-" she gestured with a manila envelope covered in glitter, "-the results of your votes for prom queen and king!" A cheer went up, then the room was silent again. Mrs. Davies cleared her throat. "Your Derry High School prom king and queen are... Greta Keene..." Greta tossed her hair over her shoulder as she smiled and waved from the stage. Mrs. Davies placed a delicate plastic tiara on her head. "And..." she looked at the paper quizzically, but seemed to decide that it was legitimate. "...Bill Denbrough." It was so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop. Literally. A pin dropped off Mrs. Davies's dress and it was fully audible. Then Ben started clapping, loudly and enthusiastically, his pudgy hands creating a sound that was almost deafening in the gym. And then Stan joined him, and Mike, and Richie, and Eddie. Ben rose hesitantly to his feet, but fueled by the cheers of his friends (and only his friends, everyone else stood in stunned silence), he approached the stage and allowed Mrs. Davies to place the crown haphazardly on his head. He smiled awkwardly for a moment, then jumped down and hurried back to where his friends were still cheering.

"What j-just happened?" He asked, more confused than anything.

"What do you mean?" Richie asked, and took a conspicuous sip of his drink. "Nothing happened. Eddie and I certainly didn't break into the ballot box and switch the votes." He and Eddie shared a furtive glance.

"Are you serious? Do you know how much trouble you could get in?" Stan asked, but he was grinning.

"Y-you guys are th-th-the best."

"No shit. Now, can we get back to dancing, please? I'm getting a little bored, and Mr. Prom King over here oughta show his face on the dance floor at least once."

The rest of the dance passed in a blur of moments so odd, Eddie thought maybe he'd dreamed them. Stan rode on top of Ben's shoulders and poured drinks into his mouth from nearly three feet away without spilling a drop. Richie stole Bill's crown and spoke in a cockney accent for several minutes. He and Mike ended up in the DJ booth, and Eddie had to say that he looked right at home. However, like all parties of its kind, it burned out around eleven, and the Losers said their goodbyes. Bill, being the only other sober person there, offered to take Stan, Mike, and Ben home, if Stan would let him sleep on his couch, which he would. That just left Eddie and Richie. Eddie felt oddly apprehensive about driving Richie home, although he'd done it a hundred times.

"You're really quiet," Richie said, about a minute in, his words not fully slurred, but still obvious that he was far from sober.

"Just tired." Eddie never moved his eyes from the road.

"Is this about what I asked you earlier? Because I was stupid and wasted and I think Bowers gave me brain damage."

"Don't joke about that."

"Look, don't worry about it, Eds."

"Don't call me that!"

"Fine, fine." Richie slumped down in his seat and pouted. "We did the right thing with Bill, right?" Eddie considered momentarily.

"Yeah, I think we did. I think we proved that it's not just shiny people who can have fun at prom."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Eddie flipped on the radio. Richie sang along, even less in tune than he had been earlier.

"Workin' on our night moves... trying to lose the..." he trailed off as he forgot the words.

"Awkward teenage blues," Eddie finished, his voice high and clear.

"Yeah. That's it." Eddie pulled into Richie's driveway. The house was dark. "You know, your mom'll kill you if she finds out you got drunk." Richie didn't respond, and when Eddie turned to look at him, he leaned forward and kissed Eddie. It wasn't a good kiss. It was sloppy and drunk and Richie's lips tasted like smoke and booze and sweat. But even so, Eddie didn't break the kiss. He didn't lean into it, either, but he didn't move to stop it. "Uh... sorry." Richie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was dumb." He cracked a smile, but Eddie just stared at him, dumbfounded. "Really fucking stupid."

"No." It took Eddie a moment to realize that it was himself that had spoken. "Not stupid."

"Not... stupid?"

"Well... maybe a little." Richie smiled for real now.

"I'll see you, Eddie." Richie unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door.

"Wait!" Eddie grabbed Richie's arm. "Do you... maybe... want to... dance?" Richie stared at him.

"Yeah. That sound nice." Eddie cranked the radio louder. It was Springsteen's "If I Should Fall Behind". Eddie took one of Richie's hands in his, and ever so softly placed the other one on Richie's shoulder. Richie's other hand slid around the small of his back. They swayed awkwardly in the headlights, their feet scuffling on the concrete of Richie's driveway, Bill's crown still glinting on Richie's head. When the song was finished, Eddie kissed Richie's cheek and got back in the car. He drove home and went to bed, and they never spoke of that night again. But years later, when Richie and Derry and senior prom were long forgotten, whenever Eddie heard Springsteen's voice singing that song, he felt a twinge in his arm that had been broken once upon a time, and he had a vague and blurry memory of a dance and a clear, starry sky.


End file.
